Tear of a Madman
by pokemonflower9379
Summary: Undertaker's final moments and thoughts before execution. Character death warning. I do not own Black Butler.


Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I watched the clock's pendulum swing back and forth from my cell, where I was suspended with chains from the wall, its pattern never changing. It was one of the few things that kept me relatively sane down here. The dungeon was a very boring place. With each little second, my inescapable fate drew closer, the thought of which mad me smile. The mere thought of my upcoming demise made me smile and let out a howl of laughter, which grew stronger as I saw a guard jump out of the corner of my eye from my laugh. The laugh signaled my descent even further to total madness, not that it would matter after today.

Considering my crime, I wasn't expecting such a light sentence. My little zombie experiment had killed over 14,000 people who weren't on the to-die list, not to mention numerous reapers, demons, and angels. Execution sounded like a walk in the park compared to my crime. The faster the guards came to escort me, the better. It was truly getting boring down here.

I had been in this same cell, chained up as I am now, for the past 2 months. Visitors were few and far between. In fact, the only person who had come to visit him had been Grell, which had lead to tears, a fist fight when I had slipped his chains, and a shouting match. Grell had gotten out unscathed, meanwhile I was chained back up with numerous broke ribs and a broken nose. Of course, I couldn't blame Grell for being mad. Grell had been friends with almost every one of the fallen reapers, and even engaged to one of them. I think his name was Will or something like that. I hadn't meant for them to get hurt, but they got in the way. I can't change this now, but sometimes, I wish I could.

My plan had failed, plain and simple. People had died. Now I was going to pay the ultimate price. Perhaps it was for the best. Life had been steadily growing dull for me over the past 400 years, perhaps death would provide me with suitable entertainment.

Footsteps began too echo through the dungeon, the sounds growing closer to my cell. 'Welp, time to face the music,' I thought as I lifted my head, staring at my cell door.

A moment later, the cell door slid open and a suit clad reaper entered, two guards standing next to him. Their eyes bore holes into me as they stared at me, telling me what I had already guessed. It was time. I felt my heart begin to speed up as they neared me, working on unlocking my chains. What was this feeling? It seemed familiar, like something I hadn't felt in centuries. It was then that the word came to me.

Fear. For the first time in nearly 3 centuries, I was truly afraid of something.

The fear all but shut my mind off in sheer panic. I felt my body being pulled from the chains, the clicking of the still broken ribs echoing in the cell. 'This is real,' I thought as the posse began to lead me out of my cell and down what us short term stay criminals called the walk of shame. 'I can't be really afraid, could I?' I thought as we walked in silence, '….Oh god, I'm actually afraid.' I didn't realize how deep the fear ran out we stepped out the door the lead to the outside world, where I saw the crowd of thousands of reapers, cheering for my fate, hurling names at me as I stood in the covered area that lead to the execution platform.

I walked solemnly towards the platform, where the executioner stood poised with my freshly polished scythe. The guards stayed behind, knowing that I couldn't escape, even if I tried. The crowd soon fell silent as I reached the platform, my steps up the wooden platform stairs echoing loudly. I cast a glance at the executioner, his eyes offering no sympathy or solace. Per tradition, I had been allowed to choose my own method of execution. I went for a classic, which at the time sounded fun, but now, as I knelt to designated spot on the platform, my head resting gently in the trough, the thought of being beheaded by my own scythe didn't sound very appetizing. In fact, it made me want to heave.

I looked around at the crowd, one of the last sights I would ever see, looking for at least one face that felt bad for me, but I found no one on my side. Not even Grell, who was in the front of the crowd, scowling at him with all his might. Not even my oldest and dearest friend felt pain for me, but again, I couldn't blame him. I released the tension in my body, fully relaxing my body for my fate.

"Any last words?" the executioner asked, his voice void of emotion.

"….Grell…..I'm sorry," I managed to croak out before bowing my head, resigning myself to my fate. A single tear rolled off my face, staining the wood of the platform. Another silence fell over the crowd as the executioner raised my scythe over my head, taking careful aim. 'I've lived a good life,' I thought to myself in my final moments.

Thunk.


End file.
